


Nobody's Gonna Get Hurt

by craftingkatie



Series: Swallowed By The New [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Healing Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Panic Attack Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22468066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craftingkatie/pseuds/craftingkatie
Summary: When Darcy needs time away from the City to heal, Clint and Natasha bundle her away to their super-secret spy hideaway in the hills of Virginia. There, surrounded by trees and nature, she works on healing with her spies close by her side. They’re close enough to help but careful not to get close enough to feel. It's something of a problem, you see, because once Darcy has made up her mind about a thing, she needs the world to stand up and take notice.It's a problem because she loves Clint and Natasha but they’re still giving her so much emotional space there may as well be a canyon between them all.It's a problem because the need to touch them, the need for intimacy to be a part of their relationship again is like an itch steadily growing in her breastbone- and she can’t scratch it without their help...
Relationships: Clint Barton/Darcy Lewis/Natasha Romanov
Series: Swallowed By The New [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/990201
Comments: 15
Kudos: 45





	1. If it’s meant to be, It’s easy

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> It's been a year!
> 
> (I know, A YEAR. What??)
> 
> I got married, went debt-free, bought a house, got a new job, lost the new job and went back to the old job, and worried over this damn story for the whole of 2019.
> 
> This is the culmination of this threesome's hardships. Darcy, Clint, and Natasha deserved the time away at the cabin to heal and to learn how to be around one another again. I hope you can forgive my handwaving a deeper dive into healing in this final installment. It got to be too much for me and I just needed my threesome to have their happy. Trust that the healing work goes ever on when they return to their lives with the Avengers. 
> 
> I proudly present the final story of Phosperescent Blues, a series following the relationship that blooms between first Clint/Darcy and then Clint/Darcy/Natasha. It's the 7th work in my Swallowed by the New series, a challenge to write a story for each song off of Glen Phillips' album "Swallowed by the New."
> 
> This song, "Nobody's Gonna Get Hurt" imagines a world where everything is perfect and lovers never lie. 
> 
> I will always feel this way  
> I will never leave your side  
> I won’t lose myself to fear  
> Or lose you to my pride  
> I will speak less often  
> But I will speak the truth  
> And nobody’s gonna get hurt
> 
> The highway wasn’t made for leaving  
> Whiskey wasn’t made for the regret  
> The smoke in my lungs  
> Makes it easier to breathe  
> And broken hearts will always mend
> 
> Lovers don't lie  
> Time is merciful  
> We are always gonna stay  
> Young and beautiful  
> And I will shoulder all the blame  
> If we can’t make this work  
> So nobody’s gonna get hurt

Darcy awakes with a gasp she swiftly tries to swallow back; now that she’s awake and aware of her surroundings, she worries after worrying the others in the room. The pillow cradles her head gently as she pants, trying to bring her breath under control while fighting against the panic. She takes a deep breath and focuses her mind on her shiny new coping mechanism.

  
  
**5 things you can see….**  
Darcy focuses first on the ceiling above her. It’s wood-paneled, reminding her of the pictures of her grandmother’s house from the 70s. There’s a dark knot in the light wood shaped like a question mark. Story of her life, full of so many questions and very few clear answers.  
  
To her left, her head lolling on stress stiffened muscles, she sees the closet door open to the spill of clothes. Her dresses are tucked in between Clint’s collection of cargo pants and Natasha’s stylish spread of comfortable clothing.  
  
Her breathing starts to calm, but it still hitches in her chest and the memories of her dream threaten her tenuous calm. _Three more things, focus Darcy_ .  
  
Natasha is next to her in the bed and it’s easy to drop her line of vision from the closet door to Natasha. She doesn’t make eye contact with the other woman, just trails her eyes along the familiar shape under the sheet. Even with panic tickling at her thoughts, she warms at the thought of that body and what it can do to her; how good Natasha could make her feel. Darcy shifts, forcing herself to look away before she gets distracted by naughty thoughts (which might help but isn’t the strategy she wants to practice right now).  
  
Across the room, the wallpaper is illuminated by the moon shining through the window- and does that count as two things she’s seen?- the vines twisting ever onward, in an endless quest to reach the ceiling. Something is sad about that wallpaper, besides its obvious age. It’s swallowed by wood paneling and an obnoxious crown molding too fanciful for the dark wood above. Darcy wonders if Clint would ever consider putting personal touches in this bedroom, adding color and removing some of the more dated elements. She thinks he probably prefers it the way it is, though.  
  
Speak of the devil… she sees the covers bunching on her right, a sure sign Clint is clasping them in his hand, frustrated by not being able to help her. Darcy steadfastly ignores his movement, refuses to look over in case it triggers some memory of his face twisted into hatred in her dreams. She breathes in slowly, and out again.  
  
  
**4 things you can touch…**  
She worries at the skin of her collar, tracing the lines and dips there. It’s been weeks and Darcy knows there isn’t a physical mark to show where she fractured her collar bone, but still, she thinks she ought to be able to feel something on the outside to show for all the pain on the inside.  
  
Darcy reaches out and finds Natasha’s hand already reaching for her. She clasps it in her hand, squeezing it in two quick bursts. It’s her signal to Tash that she’s working on being okay. Tash squeezes back once, and Darcy is comforted by the touch, proud of the progress she’s made. Two weeks ago, she wouldn’t have stretched out her weakened, injured arm but thanks to Natasha’s encouragement, she is gaining strength and mobility in her shoulder and arm every day.  
  
She tugs her hand free gently, trailing her fingers across the bedspread they had bought in town the eighth day they had all been there together. Part of her slow healing journey had been getting used to being in crowds, and in Virginia, the crowds weren’t large enough to intimidate Darcy. The hand-crocheted cover feels rough under her fingers.  
  
Finally, she pulls at the soft cotton tee shirt she’s been wearing to bed for the last few days. It’s one of Clint’s, washed to the perfect level of softness, and stretched to the point that it fit her well enough to be decent with a pair of shorts. Darcy remembers his rueful smile as she grabbed it out of the laundry basket, freshly dry from hanging on the line out in the sun and now free game.  
  
She sighs, refocuses on her task.

  
  
**3 things you can hear…**  
Clint is humming gently behind her. He had tried speaking to her after the first few nightmares but the sound of his voice after seeing his face in her nightmares had only compounded her panicked fear in the darkness. They had slept separately for a few nights after that but it seems that without his comforting presence, the nightmares got more intense. The humming, in a flash of brilliance by Clint, had been the perfect way to calm her down. Wordless music flowed into her jumbled brain and gave her something to cling to.  
  
He sits up in the bed, sitting cross-legged beside her prone form. She hears the sheets pooling at his waist, sliding against his bare chest. It’s moving towards Fall, but in Virginia, that hardly means a break in the high temperatures. Clint doesn’t reach out to touch her, but she knows he wants to; knows because he has tried to touch her, hold her, every night the nightmares wake her up. It’s only recently that her not-therapist suggested she complete this list of tasks to root her in the present before they interact with her.  
  
Darcy hears her heartbeat pick up, thudding dully in her chest because there’s a shape looming over her and _danger, danger, danger!_ …. her blood sings and her ears hear the echoes of her pulse rushing in time. She closes her eyes, rolls towards Natasha to ignore, distract, and stem the rising panic. What’s the next step?  
  
  
**2 things you can smell…**  
The bacon from their dinner- breakfast for dinner, the best of all dinner options- still hangs in the air. The cabin wasn’t huge, just two bedrooms and one bathroom, with a large area to serve as the kitchen and living space. When they cook together, the smells fill the entire space giving it a more homey feel. Natasha and Clint were so conscious about what they put in their bodies- not to the point of not enjoying junk food- but to the point where they taught Darcy how to make the foods she craved with the simplest ingredients. Cooking together meant coming together and Darcy treasured every meal they made.  
  
Her urge to snuggle into Natasha takes over her actions and she finds herself with her nose pressed into Tash’s side, the smell of their soap rising from her skin and surrounding Darcy with the clean smell of lavender. Tash, for her part, doesn’t reach out in response to Darcy’s movements- but even without a comforting touch, just the smell of the bath soap brings to mind the closeness of her body, the memories of their past closeness. Darcy takes a deep shuddering breath, bringing the smell deep into her lungs.

  
  
**1 thing you can taste…**

She bites at her lip, tasting the salty sting of sweat there before she sits up with a sigh. “I’m fine,” Darcy says preemptively before the others can speak. Natasha sits up beside her and runs a hand down her back, her nails lightly scratching. “It wasn’t that bad this time.”  
  
“Jesus, Darcy,” Clint breathes as he finally allows himself to reach out, cup his warm hand at the nape of her neck, massaging at the tension there. She bows her head a bit under the touch, enjoying the strength in his fingers as they squeeze. This is her Clint, not the shifty faced demon of her nightmares.  
  
“I’m fine,” she says again, this time looking up to make eye contact with Clint, specifically Clint, who feels guilty every time she wakes up screaming and flinching away from him.  
  
Natasha’s hand has stopped it’s calming movements, wrapping around Darcy’s hip lightly. “I’ll go make you some tea,” she announces before rising gracefully from the bed and disappearing into the darkened hall beyond the room.  
  
Clint turns to watch Natasha leave the room, doesn’t turn back to look at Darcy. She sighs, knowing it’s as hard on him as it is on her, these dreams where a man wearing his face torments her. Examining his features in the moonlit dark, she sees the pain in the tension of his jaw. Knows it must echo the tension written on her own features.  
  
They’re both in this hell thanks to Loki and his leftover darkness, hidden deep in Clint’s subconscious- now thankfully banished to oblivion.  
  
Making her decision, she moves carefully to lay down, pillowing her head in his lap. Darcy situates herself on her side, her free hand clenching at his hip, fingers brushing at bare skin and well worn knit pants. “What were you humming?” she asks, eyes closed against all of her doubts and fears.  
  
“A song about a moonshiner. I heard a man singing it at the farmers market the other week and I guess it stuck with me. I don’t really know the words but I always thought the melody was a bit calming.” He answers easily into the stillness. She can feel that he isn’t looking at her.  
  
“It was nice. I wonder if I’ve ever heard the words before.” Darcy hums a bit of the melody. She hears Natasha coming back with the tea, feels him tensing to move and she flattens her palm against his side. “Please don’t go sleep on the couch tonight.” He doesn’t relax, even with her plea so she tries again, “Please, Clint. I need you here.”  
  
Natasha appears at the door and Clint still feels like he’s ready to run so Darcy turns her pleading eyes to Natasha. “Tash, he’s gonna go sleep on the couch again. Tell him not to; tell him to stay. Please?” She’s tired and cranky and just wants everything to magically be okay again. 

“Just as he’s allowed you space, you need to allow him to make his own decisions, Darcy.” Natasha sounds like a school teacher lecturing a class on sharing, and Darcy feels properly chastised. Of course, she should let Clint escape to the couch if that’s what he needed.  
  
Darcy sits up and moves away from Clint. “Sorry,” she fiddles with her shirt, adjusting it to keep from meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”  
  
“It’s good to know I’m wanted, kitten,” Clint shifts forward to gently touch her face. Darcy turns to meet his gaze. “Really, it’s okay to speak your mind here. Ask for what you want at all times.” He swallows hard. “I’ll stay with you until you’re asleep again, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” Darcy accepts immediately. If her choices are a tiny bit of closeness or none at all, she’ll take the chance to be clear-headed and next to him. Being so close to him, closed up in this cabin with Clint and Natasha, has her nerves on fire craving their touch. In an infuriating twist, the spies will only touch her if she asks for assistance in a task limited by her mobility. After a few perfunctory sips of the tea, she passes it back to Natasha to leave on the side table. Darcy leans back on her pillow- they’ve managed to squeeze three of them onto a queen bed and somehow it’s worked for them. Natasha and Clint follow suit, both turned to face her as she faces the ceiling.  
  
“That beam has a question mark on it, y’see?” She points it out on a yawn.  
  
“Go to sleep, _kotyonok_ .” Natasha chides, pulling the covers up and over Darcy’s shoulders. Darcy sighs and closes her eyes, focuses on even breathing and on counting imaginary sheep. It must work because she feels herself begin to drift off again. It’s harder now, to fall asleep without the aid of the pain pills that have been floating her off to sleep without worry for a few weeks now.  
  
She feels Clint roll out of bed and tenses, trying to pretend to be asleep. Trying to pretend she doesn’t feel a bit like she’s pushed him so far away that nothing will ever be the same.  
  


* * *

  
  
See, the thing is they’ve been at this cabin for two weeks. It had taken two days to arrive in the small town in Virginia that Clint had chosen to house his hideaway. It was decided between Clint and Natasha that the normal 8-hour drive would be too much for Darcy to handle and they had paid for a hotel room at the halfway mark, somewhere between Columbia and Bethesda.  
  
It hadn’t been the fanciest of motels, but it was clean enough and had food in the vending machine that wasn’t expired which meant Darcy loved it to pieces. Just as much as she loved the cheesy mix of songs Clint had played as they drove- and almost as much as she loved the cabin from the moment they finally crested the hill the driveway gradually climbed.  
  
She loves Clint’s cabin; loves the expanse of land that surrounds it and buffers it from all neighbors, loves that it’s held together by Clint’s own handyman skills. Darcy loves the cozy closeness of the two bedrooms to the main living areas; she’s never too far from either Tash or Clint when inside the walls.

She loves that the wallpaper is peeling and the light switches are older than dirt (and very, very close to that in color). Tash keeps a running list on the fridge of all the repairs that need doing. This week, they’re all working in the living area, stripping the old wallpaper as Clint lays new carpet. There had been an argument about sanding and refinishing the wood floors underneath the old carpet, but the simple matter of time and budget constraints meant that putting down fresh carpet was the only option for now. 

It never occurred to Darcy that having A Project might help her in her path to healing. She loves that Clint and Natasha knew it would help before she herself did.  
  
Mostly, probably…okay, almost certainly, she just loves Clint and Natasha.  
  
It’s been a long time coming, this revelation, after their hardships. Therapy, journaling, meditating, none had helped so much as awkwardly scraping wallpaper away from a wall one-handed. Making dinner together in the evenings, each one groaning with an ache from a good day’s hard work bonded them closer together. Sharing the one working bathroom, sharing the soothing shower spray, sharing a bed… physically being together had healed most all of Darcy’s fear, made her face the facts about her nightmares.  
  
And once she starts muddling through it, she sets to it with the determined perseverance Jane fears in the lab. She isn’t afraid of Clint any longer; the nightmares simply borrow his face to express her anxiety. It comes in waves, really. One day she will be perfect, hale and mostly hearty, comfortable in her own skin and happy to be close to the two spy-sassins. The next will have her waking up panting in the grip of a nightmare- the same nightmares that have Clint convinced he needs to keep his distance. 

Darcy wants to close the distance. It’s been two weeks of being cared for; two weeks of clinical detachment coupled with fond terms of endearment. They’re close enough to help but not close enough to _feel_ .  
  
The problem is, once Darcy has made up her mind about a thing, she needs the world to stand up and take notice.  
  
The problem is she loves Clint and Natasha but they’re still giving her so much emotional space there may as well be a canyon between them all.  
  
The problem is the need to touch them, the need for intimacy to be a part of their relationship again is like an itch steadily growing in her breastbone- and she can’t scratch it without their help.


	2. I will always feel this way, I will never leave your side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here thar be sexual healings.

Natasha had taken her recovery on as a personal goal. The second bedroom had been an actual bedroom when they first arrived. It had been a bedroom for almost a week after they arrived, then Natasha had dismantled it all in one night.

After a week in the cabin hideaway, they had bundled Darcy into the car and driven to a doctor over an hour away. She assumes the goal was both to find the best doctor in the local area and also to keep from leading anyone back to the super secret cabin hideaway. The doctor had examined the scans Natasha provided and pronounced his belief that Darcy was healing well for being three weeks post-injury. Darcy took this all in, held it to her heart and then let it go like one of those glowy lanterns that float up, up, and away. The doctor may feel she is doing just fine, but Darcy can feel how weak and tight her shoulder is; can’t picture it ever having the same level of strength she had enjoyed in the past.

She makes the mistake of saying as much to Clint and Natasha on the way back to the cabin- not for the woe-is-me attention factor, but because Natasha is reading out a schedule of exercises that Darcy just doesn’t think will help. The spot that had broken, that the doctor says is healed, healing, nearly perfect, throbs to match her negative racing thoughts. 

“You will try these.” Natasha’s tone is the one she gets when Darcy refuses to take pain medication or when Clint refuses to wash out the tiny cuts that happen in the course of his handy-manning. It brooks no argument and takes no prisoners.

Darcy rolls her shoulder back, fights the tension there, and tries to find words to soothe over everything. “Of course I’ll try, but Tash...”

“Hey, kitten,” Clint meets her eyes in the rearview mirror, splitting his attention between the road and her. “Don’t give up until we’ve gone through all the exercises. We know what it’s like.”

It’s not that she doesn’t trust they’ve recovered from plenty of injuries before; it’s just that they recovered from injuries done to a body that was already in peak condition. She agrees if only to stop the conversation and spreads out in the back seat to lean against the window and watch the world go by. 

Clint pulls her out of the car and tucks her hand in the crook of his arm, taking her off for an impromptu walk about the acreage as Natasha heads inside. He relaxes the longer they’re outside and she finds herself relaxing with him. They watch the sun set among the trees and hilly landscape then head back along the fence line, taking a meandering path back towards the cabin.

Natasha greets them at the door glistening with a fine sheen of sweat and leads Darcy to the second bedroom. When they left for the appointment, the room held a maze of bookcases, side tables, and a disassembled bed frame. In the time it took Clint and Darcy to walk out and back, Natasha has cleared the furniture to one wall- and maybe even to the aether as there are a few pieces of furniture Darcy thinks may have disappeared. 

That night, before bed, Natasha makes her take off her sling and bend over, her torso parallel to the floor and her arms hanging loose towards the floor. It pulls at her shoulder, but the pain seems to be only an echo of what it had been. 

“Now use your arms to make circles in the air,” Natasha demonstrates, spinning her arms slowly like the whisk in a brownie batter and Darcy tentatively follows suit. Gravity helps pull at her muscles and the spinning motion stretches parts of her arm that haven’t been used in three weeks. Darcy wants to give up almost immediately, wants to pull her arm back to her chest and wrap it in the safety of her sling.

But Natasha puts a comforting hand on the small of her back and just that tiny comforting pressure is enough to have her repeating the exercise- clockwise and anti-clockwise- until Natasha tells her she’s completed the required repetitions. When Darcy straightens, her arms feel jelly-filled and heavier than they should. She’s sore and grumpy with it.

As a reward, Clint fills the bathtub to the brim and steals a fancy bath bomb from Natasha’s not-so-secret stash packed away under his sink. Natasha grumbles about having packed those for herself but seems pleased that Darcy appreciates the treat. The days that follow stick to a new schedule: work around the house, physical therapy, and then relaxing together.

* * *

There’s something to be said for physical exertion and exhaustion leaving the brain no room for nightmares. Her nightmares had already shrunk in intensity but after starting nightly physical therapy with Natasha, they faded to the point where sometimes they weren’t even bad enough to wake her up. 

Her nightmare from the night before had been a doozy and when coupled with Clint’s refusal to stay in the room afterward, Darcy has reason enough to want tonight to go smoother. She volunteers to continue stripping wallpaper into the hallway alone while Natasha helps Clint lay the carpet in the main room and down the hall. She goes through her entire spray bottle of their magic wallpaper stripper that morning before they stop for lunch. Natasha’s leftover bottle lasts her until the sun sinks below the treeline, lengthening the shadows on the walls.

Her shoulder aches but Darcy picks her way to the kitchen and locates the kettle, puts it on to boil. She uses her weak arm to pull out the half-empty gallon bottle of vinegar and readies it on the counter next to her spray bottle. Her determination to use her injured arm backfires when she goes to pick up the whistling kettle. It gives out halfway to the sink, her hand spasming as she drops the kettle and simultaneously tries to jump out of the way. 

Her legs are caught in the backsplash of boiling water as it arcs from the kettle. Clint is there scooping her up and carrying her out of the kitchen almost before Darcy can do much more than squeak in pain- thank you close quarters. He carries her into the bathroom and puts her down to stand in the tub as Natasha turns on the showerhead. Cool water jets down, sluicing down her legs and taking what little boiling water had hit her. 

Clint is stripping her pants off, trying to get the clothes away from any burns, when Darcy pulls him into a punishing kiss. Honestly, she’s pretty sure the adrenalin must have taken over her limbs because one moment she’s cataloging the few burning pinpricks of skin and the next she’s wrapping arms around him, trying to get as close as possible. She kicks her leg out, trying to free the suddenly sodden pants from her ankles and Darcy slips, falling more fully into Clint.

“Sorry,” Darcy laughs as he tries to help her regain her balance.

“I think I’m flattered,” Clint’s smile glints with the sexy edge she has missed. “You practically threw yourself at me.”

“You were there to catch me, HotArms.” Darcy tugs at the hair at the back of his neck, enjoys the slow wave of lust that rolls through her when he scrapes a thumb nail across the sensitive skin at her hip, right above her waist. 

Natasha distracts them both by stripping off her shirt in an efficient move. “Clint, help her off with her shirt. We might as well wash off the grime of the day and be done for the night.” 

While Natasha strips in an efficient, business-like manner, Clint takes his time sliding Darcy’s shirt off. He uses the upward motion to skim his hands over her skin, cataloging each emotion that crosses her face. Her bra then follows her discarded shirt, Clint mischievously tweaking her nipple and grinning at her hiss of breath in response. 

When he follows up on his tease by stepping back to begin removing his own clothes, she ignores him in favor of turning to Natasha. Darcy holds her hand out for the woman, smiles when her offering is accepted. The spray is warm now, beating down against the porcelain glaze of the tub in a rhythmic patter akin to her heart's own beat. (She’s calm. She isn’t running on adrenalin or fear or anything other than a blossoming need to touch and be touched by this woman and this man.)

She pulls Natasha to her- or maybe Natasha pulls her in closer. Either way, she’s suddenly wrapped up in Natasha, lips meeting for the first time in far too long. The spray tickles her hands as they stroke down Natasha’s back, warms the skin she finds there, slicks her path back up and around. Darcy follows Clint’s lead and rubs a thumb over Natasha’s nipple, gentler than his tweak but purposeful enough to have Natasha smiling into the kiss. 

Natasha retaliates by tangling her hand in Darcy’s hair and tugging, tilting Darcy’s head back and baring her neck. She nuzzles in behind her ear, nipping love bites at the sensitive flesh there, laving the pain away with a clever tongue. Darcy loses all sense of the room around them, lost in Natasha’s mouth trailing down her neck and across her collar bone.

Warmth looms at her back, announcing Clint’s presence even as he wraps an arm around Darcy to pull her up close against his straining erection. Natasha pulls back to source Darcy’s gasp, smiles up at Clint.

“Want to help me out?” She asks, loosening her hold of Darcy’s hair. Darcy has a second to look back over her shoulder before Clint’s hand tangles in her hair from behind, changing the angle. He slips his other around her, cups her breast and holds it out, an offering for Natasha who obliges the gift by bending down to suck Darcy’s nipple. Clint shifts, slides his hand across her chest, using his forearm to prop her chest up and out for Natasha’s attention.

Then he sets about torturing her.

“I missed this, kitten,” he whispers, his mouth just behind her ear. His breath sends a frisson of heat straight down her spine to the muscles clenching in her pussy. “I missed having you writhing between us.” He tightens his grip in her hair, tugs at it to hear her moan of appreciation. 

Darcy could easily let this continue; could easily let them focus on her body and her pleasure and ride the rising tide of arousal.

But she’s had just about enough of it being about her, about her needing special consideration.

“Please,” She pushes at Natasha’s shoulders, grips Clint’s hand and squeezes it gently before pulling it away from her breasts. “Please, stop.” And, bless her spies, they immediately back away. Natasha stands under the spray, her face carefully blank. She can only imagine Clint’s face must look much the same. She cringes, shrinking in on herself; of course, they would see that as a rejection. It’s up to her to make it right- to make them understand. 

Darcy reaches out slowly to bracket Natasha’s waist, tugging at the woman to get her to turn her back to the wall. “My turn.” She can’t find the words or maybe wouldn’t even know how to voice what she needs more than she needs their hands on her body. “I-I need...” Darcy drops to her knees in front of Natasha, twisting her torso to face the woman. It’s not comfortable, not really, but Darcy doesn’t care.

She slides her hands from Natasha’s waist, strokes thumbs down her strong thighs, using them to hook in between her legs and gently pull. Resistance meets her efforts and Darcy looks up to meet Natasha’s gaze. “Tash, please?” 

“Tash,” Clint breathes out his own plea, his hand stroking down Darcy’s hair to clasp at the nape of her neck. He reaches for Natasha and pulls her in for a scorching kiss. “Tash,” he moans her name and Darcy leans back against his hip and watches as they makeout above her.

Darcy isn’t sure when Natasha makes up her mind- whether it was her own plea or Clint’s need- but Natasha leans back against the wall, her legs falling open. She’s nervous, afraid to mess this up or pull Tash out of the moment. Darcy leans forward and presses a kiss to the inside of first her right and then left thigh. 

She nuzzles up, finding Natasha’s center, finding her lover warm and pliant. Darcy strokes two fingers up and down her slit, using them finally to part Natasha’s folds.

She licks up into Natasha, too desperate to tease or play. It’s a focused task, licking and sucking and paying attention to the subtle- and not-so-subtle- signs that she was pushing the right buttons for Natasha. Her hips buck against Darcy’s face and Darcy takes that as a win.

Darcy pulls back for a breath, circling her thumb around Natasha’s clit. Clint and Natasha are wrapped up in one another in a way that makes her heart full- and a little jealous. Had they turned to one another again after she left (and could she blame them if they had done so?)

Natasha has one hand wrapped around Clint’s neck and one hand firmly stroking his cock next to Darcy’s head. Darcy grins, quick and clever, and leans in to take him in her mouth. Natasha stills her hand at the base of his cock, giving Darcy room to take more of him in, flattening her tongue against the length of him as she pulls back. 

She releases his cock from her mouth with a giggle; he looks pained, leaning against the tiled wall, his head against his forearm. At her giggle, he straightens with a mock glare down at her. 

“Weren’t you in the middle of something?” He asks, again resting his hand at her neck and pushing her back to Natasha’s center. She gives in to the pressure with another giggle and presses a sweet kiss to Natasha’s belly button before sitting back on her heels.

“Yes, _kotyonok_.” Natasha hums, reaching out to tangle hands in Darcy’s hair, massaging fingernails into her scalp in a way that has Darcy resting her forehead against Natasha’s thigh as she breathes through the tingling sensation. 

“Wait, I have an idea,” Clint leans down and grips Natasha’s thigh, encouraging it up and over Darcy’s shoulder. Natasha leans her weight into Clint’s ready form, balancing on one leg. The position spreads the woman wide in front of Darcy, leaving her with more room to work.

“Thank you, Clint.” Darcy smiles up at him before looking up at Natasha. “Is this good?”

“Perfect. You are perfect.” Natasha sighs before turning into Clint’s embrace. Darcy lets the praise wash over her in a shiver of arousal before turning her attention back to the matter at hand. 

Her shoulder pulls when she reaches to wrap her hand as an anchor around Natasha's thigh, so Darcy lets that hand fall to her lap. Instead, she uses her other hand to thrust first one, then two fingers into Natasha's wanting pussy. She uses her tongue to lap at the woman's clit, a firm pressure that doesn't relent even as Natasha jerks her hips more frantic against her. Darcy uses the hand in her lap to mimic the motions on her own wet, needy pussy, stoking the fire but not letting it build too high.

"I'm close," Natasha breathes out, bringing one hand down to clamp against Darcy's head, not letting Darcy move from her task. Clint groans and buries his head in Natasha's neck. 

"Come on, Tash. Come for me; for Darcy. Need you. Need you so much." He's near chanting, moaning out the words as Natasha channels her own growing climax into the movements of her hand on his cock. Darcy can’t breathe, can’t stop, can’t feel anything beyond joy. She feels the moment Natasha climaxes, can hear when Clint follows almost immediately. 

Natasha goes near boneless in the moments following her release and Darcy holds herself very still in support. She nuzzles her nose against Natasha’s thigh, breathing steadily against the soft skin there.

“Darce,” Clint reaches out for her. “Let me help you up; I’ve made a mess of your hair.” Natasha shifts to allow Darcy to stand up, helps steady her when her legs throb.

“Made a mess?” Darcy questions as she brings a hand up to touch her hair. She can’t help the laugh that bubbles out when she feels her hair. “Do I look like I was in a porno?”

“Oh yeah,” Clint’s grin is wicked and pleased. “It’s a picture I’m going to save in my memory.” She can almost hear the click and whirr of his brain taking the snapshot. 

“Perv.” Darcy splashes water ineffectually at him from the showerhead spray. Natasha twists the nozzle to cool the water sluicing down on them and helps her wash her hair. Then, they warm up the water and there’s an awkward dance to get each one of them under the water and cleaned off. 

Darcy catalogs each touch upon her body: Natasha brushing the hair off her shoulder to press a sweet kiss there as Darcy pulls towels from the tiny linen closet; Clint wrapping his hand around her from behind, laughing a joke into her ear and squeezing her tight; Natasha taking her hand and leading the way to the bedroom. They pile into the bedroom still touching one another in the soft reverent way that comes after intimacy long withheld.

Darcy follows Natasha under the covers, both pulling off the towels as they settle underneath the soft sheets. Clint hovers at the doorway, grinning like a half-naked loon. 

“You stay there and I’ll go make us sandwiches for dinner.” He offers and even after they agree, he stands there still just taking them in before turning away. 

“He’s committing me to memory,” Darcy announces to the ceiling, laying back on the pillow. “In case I run away from him again.”

Natasha slips down on the pillow beside her. “Do you plan on running?” Her voice has gone serious, probing at Darcy’s weak spots with one simple question. 

“No,” She could scream it, rage it out- or maybe sob the word on the swell of emotion stuck just beneath her breastbone. Instead, it’s just a whisper of breath, defeated. “No. I tried that and it was the worst decision for me, for us.” 

Natasha is silent beside her and Darcy knows it’s a tactic; knows for sure it’s meant to make her fill the silence. But Darcy needs to talk, needs at least one of them to hear her say the words. She turns on her side to face Natasha. “I left scared and broken and I stayed that way. No matter how hard I worked, how much I meditated or journaled.... I haven’t felt whole until I was back with you both.” Natasha starts to respond but suddenly Darcy is afraid. She reaches out and touches a finger to Natasha’s mouth. “I shouldn’t be ruining this moment with all this. Can we just pretend I didn’t bring it up- please?”

She thinks the only thing that saves her from further awkward conversation is the sound of Clint returning from the kitchen. Natasha nods once quickly and Darcy removes her hand. Darcy thinks maybe she’s still ruined her time with Natasha, bringing the real world into their intoxicating, intimate headspace, but even as she turns away to watch for Clint coming through the bedroom door, Natasha grabs her hand under the sheets and squeezes twice. They’re working on being okay.

Dinner is sandwiches on the sheets and conversation that flows easily, sweetly, smoothly around them. Dinner is snapping Clint’s towel off his waist as he stands up to take their trash to the bin. It’s watching Clint saunter naked from the room and return to lay on top of them both. It’s Darcy pillowing her head on Clint’s chest as Natasha goads him about who could beat who at a rousing round of bananagrams. It’s everything she’s been missing and it’s a comfort that lulls her off to sleep long before the other two.

* * *

Darcy wakes up to a kiss pressed gently on her forehead. She opens her eyes to morning light barely illuminating the vines on the wallpaper and Clint walking around the bed to kiss Natasha. No nightmares haunted her sleep; only blissed-out dreams. 

"I'll be back before 10," he says to them both on his way to the door. "Love you." This must be his morning to work the produce farm share at the county farmer’s market. Darcy could barely keep track of the days when she sat at a computer everyday that told her the date. Now that they’ve been ensconced in the cabin, she’s only informed of the day when Clint or Natasha need to leave to get supplies or bundle her up for an outing. 

Darcy rolls over to face Natasha. "Morning," she grins, a soft and shy expression of hope. It feels like last night was a beginning and she wants to roll around in joy over it. 

"Good morning," Natasha shifts to echo Darcy's pose. "How did you sleep?"

"No dreams; or at least none that woke me." Darcy stretches beneath the covers, arms up over her head, toes pointed behind her. “Mmm, how did you sleep?” It’s half a yawn and half a question, but Tash is used to her morning quirks. 

In any case, Natasha ignores her question and answers with, “You didn’t climax last night.” 

It’s a statement, but Darcy responds anyway. “No,” Here, she could have lied but she’s wrapped up in contentment, still feeling close to her spies in a way she hadn’t been in too long. “I didn’t. It wasn’t about me.”

“I see.” And with Natasha’s speculative gleam, Darcy thinks she must see plenty. Natasha’s clever hand strokes down her side under the covers, warm and inviting. “I could perhaps focus on you this morning to make up for last night?”

Darcy bites her lip to keep from agreeing too eagerly. “That could be fun;” it’s coy and a tease and Natasha responds to it with quick movements, straddling Darcy and capturing her lips with a kiss. Natasha’s hair falls to tickle at Darcy’s face and she wants this moment, these feelings to freeze in time for her to revisit.

“I love you,” Darcy whispers reverently as Natasha pulls back.

“I know,” Natasha winks at her but doesn’t try to maintain a serious face.

Darcy punches her shoulder gently. “Nerd.”

“Let me show you all the things I love best about your body.” Natasha’s grin goes a bit feral, wild and hungry. She bends to her task with a single-minded focus that takes Darcy’s breath away.

* * *

The warm glow of orgasm follows Darcy as she stumbles out into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Natasha had shooed her from the room after the post-sex sweat had cooled on their skin, stripping the bed down and preparing a load of laundry. Darcy was to go make coffee and grab the burn ointment from the box in the kitchen. A few places on her legs were tender in the morning light.

Darcy sets the pot to brew and settles herself at the table (and will she ever be able to look at the table without blushing? She thinks not.) to dab ointment on her legs. She catalogs the aches in her body, attributes most to the work but some speak to their activities the night before. It’s with a self-satisfied smirk that she greets Natasha as the other woman heads through the kitchen with a basket of laundry hitched to her hip. 

While Natasha loads the washer, Darcy puts the kettle back on to boil. Her spray bottle and the vinegar still sit where she had left them the night before. All she needs to start a day of wallpaper removal is the hot water to mix with the vinegar and dish soap. This time, she asks Natasha for help pouring the kettle, the two of them waiting to fill two spray bottles with the concoction once cool.

“80s pop?” Darcy asks as she grabs her scraper and spray bottle.

“Big Band?” Natasha counters.

“Scottish Acoustic Folk Rock?” Darcy smiles over her shoulder at Natasha, who rolls her eyes. They settle on a playlist Clint had created, one full of classic country and crooners, as they set to work. 

It’s been only about an hour of work before they hear the proximity alarm chime from the closet by the bathroom. Natasha checks the monitors, announces it’s only Clint, and they both listen for his tires coming up the gravel lane.

Clint stomps up the stairs and comes through the door whistling, carrying a basket full to the brim with homegrown vegetables. The county ran a swap meet of sorts and those that volunteered for a certain number of hours received a basket full of produce for free at the end of their shift. Natasha and Clint, wary of using credit cards and too used to hiding as much information about themselves as possible, greeted it as the perfect opportunity to get food without giving away too much personal information. 

As a bonus, they get the freshest produce in the county every third week. 

“I was thinking stew?” Clint is pulling out sweet potatoes, carrots, tomatoes, and kale. “There’s half an onion hanging out and ready to be used; some beef in the fridge that can be cut up and seared.”

“Sounds good,” Darcy agrees. She is set up at the table with the peeler and the sweet potatoes. Natasha chops up the beef and begins to sear it in their beat-up dutch oven. Clint joins Darcy at the table, teasing her over her technique and chopping up the potatoes as Darcy finishes with them. By the time she’s moved on to the carrots, the house is full of the smell of stew, herbaceous and strong.

They end up with a batch that will last them at least a week’s worth of lunches and dinners. It’s moved off the eye, left to cool a bit while they all help hang the laundry out on the line. It’s a legitimate clothes line, out in the yard, with a hand-sewn bag of clothespins. Darcy had laughed about it at first but she can’t deny that the smell of sunshine that clings to their laundry is a small pleasure. (It’s when they misjudge the weather and a quick afternoon storm ruins their work that has her wishing for a modern drier.)

Then, it’s bowls of stew at the scratched up kitchen table with Clint regaling them with the stories of this week’s county gossip. There’s an ease about them that hadn’t existed before last night. They touch her, finally touch her over and again in the simplest of ways. Clint more than Natasha reaches for her over and again, but he had always craved more of a physical connection than Natasha. 

Natasha sits Darcy down on the couch with her yarn supplies and requests Darcy knit a few more produce bags to take to the market. It’s a ploy, she knows, to get her to rest for a bit while Clint and Tash continue working on the carpet. Her complaints die before being voiced, though, because from where she sits she can clearly watch her two spies work. It’s such a lovely view.


	3. I won’t lose myself to fear

That night when the nightmare wakes her, it hasn’t held her in its grasp long enough for her to be disoriented. Darcy stays between Clint and Natasha, not sure if they are both awake and not willing to look and find out. Not for the first time, she praises the convenience of a one bed existence. She doesn’t need to call out to feel their presence, barely has to move to physically touch them- not that Darcy touches them; she doesn’t want them worrying.

Her heart rate is elevated and she’s just at the beginnings of a panic attack. Her body cries out for fresh air, a quick escape to stave off the oncoming storm. The front porch calls her, the rough rocking chairs exactly the balm to soothe her ills. Not for the first time, Darcy curses the inconvenience of a one bed existence. With her body firmly ensconced between them, it will be near impossible to get out without disturbing them both. 

She sighs and gives in to the necessity to be outside. Sitting up, she leverages herself up and over the bed covers, climbing off the end of the bed. Darcy scoops up her journal and a pen from the bedside table and heads for the front porch. The security system blips twice as she exits, startling in the silence.

Darcy is wishing she’d brought out a blanket and writing on her second page when Clint comes to join her on the porch. She jumps when she hears the security alarm alert.

“God, Clint, you should have stayed in bed.” She presses her hand to her chest. 

“Sorry kitten.” He rubs a hand through his hair, tousling it in a way that makes her stomach curl with desire. “You should come back inside. I don’t like the idea of you out here alone; not at night.”

She groans, the beginnings of a whine on her lips but he stops her with a stern, “Darce.”

“Yes, sir.” She smarts as she gathers her journal and stands up to pass him. He brushes a smack across her ass and she catches his grin as they walk inside. 

Darcy hesitates just inside the door, not ready to head back to the bedroom, not just yet. She sighs and turns to the couch, intending to continue her journaling inside. The carpet isn’t completely finished, just the one segment of the room made up to look nice, the couch facing the television.

“Not gonna go back to bed?” Clint asks from behind her and she shrugs.

“No, ‘m not sleepy.” Of course, she yawns through her words, only highlighting her lie. Darcy opts to head for the couch, pulling her feet up beneath her and deciding to ignore her lie. She opens her journal and avoids looking at Clint.

He plops down beside her on the couch and flips on the television, tiny and muted and tuned to HGTV. She scribbles a few more notes to wrap up her thoughts on the page; mainly about the man sitting next to her, confident he would never break her trust to read her confessions. Even so, she folds it carefully closed and places it on the floor beside the couch before laying down to rest her head in his convenient lap. 

Clint strokes a hand down her head and she breathes her pleasure out with a sigh. “That was almost a purr,” Clint comments, idly tangling his fingers in her hair and tugging gently as he works his way through the strands. 

“Keep it up, mister,” Darcy starts as she looks up at him, but she can’t really think of a threat and truly, she does want him to keep it up. She smiles and sticks her tongue out at him before rolling back to the television. Their banter has been slow to return to normal and she’s glad to hear him sound like Before. She relaxes into the feeling of his fingers and the television blurs as her eyes close.

* * *

Darcy wakes up to a face full of Clint’s crotch- and really, there are worse views in the world. She looks up the planes of his body to find he is asleep leaned back against the couch. It’s easy to just lose herself in watching him sleep, though finally, her shoulder cries out that it needs to move. She shifts herself in an effort to sit up without disturbing his sleep but he jerks and wraps a hand around her arm. Clint looks blearily around the room and then down at her.

“Don’t go,” he murmurs, clutching at her arm. She relaxes, wraps a hand around his where it rests on her arm.

“Not going anywhere, Clint.” Darcy soothes. She reaches out to brush a hand along his jaw. “Go back to sleep; gonna be here when you wake up, promise.” She shifts to kneel beside the couch. “C’mon, lay down.” Clint’s more awake than he was when he made his plea, but he allows her to tug him down against the couch cushions. Darcy pulls down the afghan and settles it against him with a flick of her wrists. 

“I’m not running, Clint. Not again.” It’s a risk to say the words, to put them out in the world. He may challenge her on it; he may start a conversation that will be hell to wade through but he needs to hear her say the words. Darcy shifts to a stand and presses a kiss to his head. “Love you,” she says with a smile. He keeps eye contact with her, searching out the truth in her eyes before finally relaxing back and surrendering to sleep once more. 

Darcy backs away from the couch carefully. She hopes Clint will let himself sleep for a bit longer. She knows her nightmares have kept them all from having a steady sleep schedule.

“Good morning,” Natasha speaks from the kitchen area as Darcy approaches and Darcy is proud of herself for containing her surprise to a tiny flinch. Maybe one day she’ll manage to appear as unflappable as Tash. 

“Morning, Tash.” She greets with a yawn. There’s blessed coffee in the carafe and Darcy sidles up next to Natasha to grab down a mug.

“Ah,” Natasha _ tsks _ . “Try with your other arm.” Darcy freezes and considers her words. She had automatically reached up with her uninjured arm, but the last time she used her other arm, the kettle had slipped. Still, she sees the wisdom in trying. Her arm is tense when she raises it, but besides a minor pulling, there’s no pain. She reckons if the mug had been even two inches higher, there would have been pain. It’s throbbing just out of reach but she takes the win when her fingers brush the handle. There’s a moment when she fears she will lack enough grip strength, that this too will fall and shatter on the ground as the kettle had fallen, but it all turns out fine.

Natasha praises her tiny success with a “Very good,” and Darcy grins at the coffee maker. It’s a silly thing, but the praise goes straight to her heart. 

Clint shifts across the room and both women look over to see him turn to face the back of the couch in sleep. 

“Go change and we will take a morning walk with our coffees,” Natasha suggests. “He needs the rest and we could use the fresh air.”

Walking with Natasha is different than walking with Clint. Clint meanders along, distracted by fence line and fallen tree branches. Natasha heads for the trail and sticks to it, taking its path around the yard. She stops at the back fence, leaning against it and looking out at the open field below it. Darcy echoes her pose, waiting for Tash to work her way around to saying whatever is on her mind. 

“Do you think you are fully healed, mentally?” Natasha asks the field, though the words are for Darcy.

“No,” Darcy answers easily. “Been working on that being okay, though.”

“Are you still frightened by Clint?” Natasha still isn’t looking her way and Darcy feels her mouth going dry.

“Only in those moments right after the dreams.” Darcy sips at her coffee. She remembers how brutal Natasha’s interrogations can be; remembers how riled up she had gotten before. She tries to calm her mind and focus on the words and less on the perceived meanings behind them. 

Natasha sets down her coffee cup and backs away from the fence. Darcy feels her circle around behind her and straightens up. The breath of air from Natasha’s next words tickles her ear. “Are you frightened of me?”

“No!” Darcy answers vehemently, shaking her head. Even in her nightmares now, Natasha is always there to support and aid, never to harm. 

Then there’s an arm around her throat, another twisting her arm back behind her. Her coffee goes flying and she tries to strangle back a scream. There’s a part of her brain screaming so loud her ears ring but there’s a larger part that thinks ‘well, this might as well happen,’ as it relaxes into the hold. It takes her a moment to grab her breath back from panic’s grasp.

“Tash?” Darcy ventures, her voice near a whisper. There’s no response from behind her so she raises her free hand, open-palmed, to rest against the arm around her throat. Natasha’s not holding tight enough to choke her out, but her shoulder is starting to cry out. Darcy struggles to hold on to her calm. “Can you show me how to get out of this hold?”

Natasha rests her forehead against the back of Darcy’s neck and breathes. Darcy tries to stay relaxed, tries to focus on 5 things she can see that aren’t the tears threatening her vision. “Will you tell me even now you aren’t frightened of me?” Tash rasps against her skin. “I can feel your pulse beat,  _ kotyonok _ .” The term of endearment is spit out like venom, an accusation that Darcy has no way to answer. 

“Am I panicked at being held like this by the woman I love? Sure. Do I think you’ve lost yourself and will follow through to physically hurt me? No.” She squeezes at Natasha’s arm. “Please, show me how I should get out of this hold. Teach me.”

The arm around her throat tightens imperceptibly and Darcy gasps in a breath.

"Tash, please." She's begging, can hear the near desperation in her own whisper. Natasha always has loved to wring pleas from her in bed, loves hearing her beg for release. Darcy wonders if even now Natasha's waiting for Darcy to beg for freedom. 

“Plant your feet,” comes Natasha’s direction and Darcy finds herself following it before she’s noticed. “Pivot and push back against me.” Natasha helps her move and Darcy knows she wouldn’t have gotten loose if not for Natasha wanting her to be free. 

The force of her movements pushes her away, has her stumbling and turning to face Natasha. “Tash, why-?” Darcy breaks off and leaves it there. 

“Will you run now?” Natasha nearly spits the words at her and Darcy flinches. 

“No?” She doesn’t mean it to be a question but she’s so unsure as to where this anger is coming from. 

Natasha digs in her pocket and throws something down at Darcy’s feet. Darcy bends carefully to retrieve the object, keeping her eyes on Natasha. It’s the satellite phone from the closet in the house. 

“Use it.” It’s a challenge, an order torn from deep within the heart of Natasha. 

Darcy shakes her head, confusion clouding her thoughts. “Who would I call, Tash? You’re right here. Clint’s back at the house.” She hazards a tentative step towards Natasha. “Who do you want me to call?”

“You tempt us back into your bed and you swear to me you wouldn’t run, not again.” Natasha points. “Yet what’s in your pocket even now?”

Darcy wonders if it’s like a magic trick. Will there be a rabbit in her pocket now- or maybe a grenade? She tips her fingers into the pocket on her cotton dress and finds the worn corner of a business card. Understanding floods her and with something almost akin to relief, she pulls out the business card Pepper Potts had handed her as they left the Tower. 

“This?” Darcy holds it up so Natasha can see the writing on it. “Is this what has you convinced I’m going to run?”

“You’ve been carrying it on you since we arrived.” As an accusation, she thinks maybe it should sting but instead it makes her warm. Natasha had noticed such a tiny detail, had held it in and watched for more information. It’s every bit her spy there in front of her. 

“I have.” Darcy accepts the accusation, confesses easily with a nod. “I’ve tucked it in pockets and shoes and panties when I didn’t have any of the above.” Natasha’s eyes go dull with hurt. 

“You’ve got one foot in this relationship and one foot ready to run.” There’s more hurt than anger behind her words and Darcy flinches under the guilt that rises up in her belly.

“But it’s not because I want to run, Tash. Please, will you look at me?”

Natasha meets her eyes with dull anger burning behind the pain. Darcy breathes in the anxiety, the guilt and tries to breathe it out. She can’t blame Tash for her feelings but maybe she can explain. “It’s a shitty coping mechanism, Tash.” Darcy sighs and wishes they were somewhere she could sit. She’s so suddenly exhausted and craves the comforting embrace of the couch. “When we were grabbed in Toronto, we were thrown away and forgotten in that room because we weren’t important enough to leverage. This card, this tiny scrap of paper tells someone that the world's most influential woman cares enough to give me her personal cell phone number. I keep it so that next time, they'll maybe pause before hurting me; so that they'll maybe keep me somewhere nicer; so that I'm maybe not broken when you come to get me.” Darcy shrugs. “Because as much as I’ve carried around this scrap of paper, I’ve been far more careful to make sure I’m wearing this bracelet at all times.” She holds up her arm, the morning light glinting on the engraved silver plate. 

Some of the anger has burned out of Natasha’s eyes. Maybe her words are breaking through. She’s hopeful.

“Would it make you feel better to take it from me? I’ll give it to you freely.” Darcy holds it out. “I’ll tear it up right here, right now. I’ll tell Clint about it myself; confess it if it makes you happy. We can burn it together over a fire, whatever you want.”

There’s movement in the corner of her eye, movement that Natasha has already been tracking before Darcy becomes aware of it. Clint comes into her eye line, completing their triad.

“Clint.” Natasha greets, pride warring with the hurt still on her face.

“Tash.” He’s not growling but it’s a near thing. “Darcy, I didn’t realize we were going out for sparring practice today.”

That answers the question of how much he’s seen, then. “Tash was helping me with some self-defense,” Darcy says.

“You don’t need to cover for her, kitten.” Clint won’t look away from Natasha. “I saw and heard everything after you screamed.”

“Then you understand that she was scared and angry with me.” Darcy shifts to face Clint fully. “We’re fine now.” She waits for him to make eye contact with her then repeats, “We’re fine.”

“Sure we are,” Clint agrees easily. “Because Tash is leaving.” He turns the brunt of his anger back to Natasha and Darcy cringes.

“No, we aren’t doing that again. We tried that remember?” Darcy moves to stand in front of Natasha, taking in the force Clint’s barely contained fury and hurt, taking Natasha’s hand in her own. “She stays and we work this through.”

It’s hurt that hits her now, full force from Clint.  _ Because you left him, you jerk, and you’re refusing to leave her _ . Her brain supplies the helpful common denominator. Darcy holds out a hand to Clint, let’s him pull her to him. “I need you both, Clint.” and then “Please take me back to the cabin.” and then, over her shoulder to Natasha, “You don’t get to take the easy way out; you don’t get to leave. We’re going to get through this.”

Clint bundles her back to the cabin, back to their home, where he worries over her neck. He makes her an ice pack for her shoulder and settles her in bed with a mug of tea and a laptop to watch movies on. He jumps to help every time she so much as winces and she lets him. By the time night falls, she’s not sure Natasha has stayed (and she can’t quite bring herself to ask.)

Darcy falls asleep securely wrapped in Clint’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happier endings ahead, my friends.


	4. Broken hearts can always mend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...... this happened. Thank you for coming on this ride with me.
> 
> I waver on whether I've shown enough healing, but the fact is their healing won't ever be complete- there will always be nightmares for Darcy, haunted memories for Clint, and a bit of paranoia from Natasha. They deserved a nice vignette into getting their relationship back on track. Hell, I deserved to write it. ;)
> 
> Find me on tumblr as CraftingKatie. I'm mostly all queue, all the time but I'd love to connect. <3
> 
> Enjoy.

When Darcy wakes, it's not from a nightmare. There isn’t anything chasing her from the darkness of her dreams into the waking world. She turns into Clint, snuggling into his warmth and enjoying the reflexive way his arms tighten around her. 

Except, there's something- someone- missing. Darcy expects anger, ready to relish a good righteous burn. Instead, she finds only confusion and hurt. She needs to talk to Natasha again. It won’t be easy but maybe if the three of them talk… Darcy buries her face in Clint’s chest and breathes him in. 

She thinks she hears a noise in the kitchen and it has her sitting up. Clint’s arms wrap around her waist and he sighs into her hip. 

“You don’t need to go out there.” His voice is rusty from sleep, only one eye cracked open to look up at her. 

“If I could rewind time, Clint, I wish someone had made me talk to you both. It might be too soon to solve anything, but I'd like to try.” Darcy tangles a hand in his hair and tugs gently. “Think of all the heartache it would have solved if I had not spent so much energy running away from you.”

“I don’t like it, kitten.” He nips at her hip, just above the waistband of her panties and she squirms out of his grasp.

“But you like me,” she quips from the other end of the bed.

“I love you,” Clint says. His eyes are both open and serious and her heart nearly stops beating.

“I love you, too, Clint.” Darcy looks out into the darkened hallway. “And we both love Tash, who needs us to pull her back in right now. We can’t push her away.”

Clint sighs and rolls over. Darcy takes it as tantamount to permission, pressing a kiss to his head as she heads out into the cabin. 

Natasha is making a fair amount of noise for a usually silent spy-sassin type. She’s at the counter, putting on a pot of coffee. Darcy knows Natasha heard her coming down the hall; knows the other woman can tell Darcy is hovering at the entrance to the kitchen. Yet she keeps her back to the entrance, giving Darcy the chance to slink back to the bedroom without having to talk to her. 

Instead, Darcy stomps further into the kitchen and sinks into a chair at the scarred table. “I’ll take a cup if you’re up to making me one.” 

The silence nearly does her in as Natasha grabs a second mug down and waits for the carafe to fill. Darcy watches as Natasha even stirs in a bit of hot cocoa mix into each mug, making their favorite drink. The mug is finally set in front of Darcy. Natasha sits down opposite her but doesn’t bother to drink her coffee.

Darcy resists the urge to stare down at her cup. Instead, she stares straight at Natasha and waits for her love to speak. Natasha meets her eyes for a beat, two, then smiles in the growing silence.

“I did not mean to wake you up,” Tash sips from her mug. Darcy follows her lead, relaxing into her chair and wrapping her hands around the warmth of the mug. 

“It’s okay,” Darcy says. “I wondered if you were still here.”

“I was told not to leave.” Natasha raises an eyebrow. 

Darcy smiles back at her. “I’m very glad you listened.” The silence falls again and Darcy lets the sweet and bitter drink soothe her nerves. It’s a delicate dance, this forgiveness thing. She stares at the coffee in her mug and wonders if she should suggest they go lay down and face this all fresh in the morning. 

It’s Natasha that breaks the silence again and Darcy nearly jumps, not expecting her to be standing right behind her. “May I braid your hair?” Natasha asks. Darcy can feel her hands hovering just shy of touching. Mini shivers travel up her spine in response. 

“Are you gonna drag me around by my hair when you’re done?” The snark comes out without her bidding.

There’s a hint of Natasha’s near-feral smile laced through her answer. “Only if you ask me to.”

Darcy closes her eyes against a roll of lust because, really body, read the room. Inappropriate. “I wouldn’t object.” She swallows then continues quickly, “to you braiding my hair.”

Natasha runs her fingers through Darcy’s hair, scratching her nails gently against her scalp. Darcy, for her part, doesn’t even bother to swallow down her moan of approval. Natasha has had hours of practice learning exactly which actions get Darcy hot and she’s now hitting them. She separates three strands of hair, brushing the back of her fingers just barely against Darcy’s neck. 

She tugs harder than strictly necessary as she swiftly braids the hair into a serviceable queue. Neither woman has a hair tie, but Natasha doesn’t let it phase her. She wraps the braid around her hand and tugs until Darcy’s head is bent back. With one hand she keeps Darcy pinned there, bringing her other hand up to cup Darcy’s cheek. 

“I love you,” Darcy says, meeting the spy’s eyes. 

Natasha’s face relaxes at her declaration. “I’m quite clearly driven crazy by my love of you.” She strokes her thumb along Darcy’s cheek. “I’m so sorry,  _ kotyonok _ .”

“All our crazy lines up together. We’ll just have to stick together.” Darcy smiles up at her. “You’ll have to keep me.” Natasha’s eyes go dark and she bends to nip at Darcy’s bottom lip, soothing the sting with her tongue. 

She pulls Darcy up with a gentled tug of her hair, slipping the chair out from between them. Darcy turns to face Natasha, breaking the hold Natasha has on her braid. It’s easy work to lose herself in the pleasure of Natasha’s mouth, each pushing and taking and stroking the fire ever higher. Slowly, Natasha shifts her until the back of her thighs hit the tabletop.

“Hop up,” Natasha breathes out. Darcy awkwardly pushes herself up onto the table, trying to do so without breaking contact with Natasha in any way. A needy sound pulls from her as Natasha steps away from her grab the chair. Natasha soothes her with softly whispered words as she pulls the chair to the table and sits between Darcy’s legs. 

Firm hands slide up her legs, spreading them wide and slipping her nightshirt up, up, up until only her panties cover her from Natasha’s gaze. Her nightshirt gets tucked against her waist and the hands encourage her to lay back. “Do you trust me,  _ kotyonok _ ?” Natasha asks, nipping at the soft skin of her thighs. The love bites steal Darcy’s breath and make it hard for her to focus on answering.

“Y-yes, Tash,” she answers, finally. Darcy hears the  _ shnk _ of metal and sits up on her elbows to see Natasha now holding a wicked blade near the tender skin of her inner thigh. She tenses, hands forming fists as she forces herself to lay back. Darcy breathes out her tension and relaxes against the feeling of the cool metal. It travels up and follows the crease of her thigh, catching against her panties and cleanly cutting the side open. 

The metal is replaced by Natasha placing an open-mouthed kiss against her hip. Darcy resists the urge to arch her hips against the sensation. It’s a good thing, too, because not even a second later, the whisper of the cool blade travels up her other leg. The slow torturous movements seem even slower now as the blade finally catches against the opposite side of her panties. One flick of Natasha’s wrist and the scrap of cloth flutters down to bare her fully. She close to panting with need when she feels Natasha’s breath against her sensitive skin. 

It breaks her open, just that one sensation. “Please, Tash,” Darcy begs, shifting against the surface of the table, moving closer to the edge. There’s a breath of tension before Natasha presses a quick kiss to her mons.

An arm presses down across her hips, holding her steady against the table. “Don’t move,” Natasha whispers from her perch between her thighs. Darcy nods, ready to give in- to agree to anything her lover asks. 

When Natasha licks a slow stripe up her pussy, Darcy has a hard time not launching her hips off the table. It’s a monumental task to hold herself still while at the mercy of Natasha’s ministrations. Without the steel band of muscled arm holding her down, she would be a flurry of desperate movement. 

Darcy is cresting ever closer to release, mewls of pleasure falling one after another from her mouth when suddenly Natasha pulls away. She levers herself up on her elbows with a groan of protest only to see a bare-chested Clint holding Natasha by the hair. He’s staring Natasha down while holding her in what looks to be a painful position. 

“Clint, no!” Darcy breathes out the protest as she struggles to sit up. “Please.” Clint looks over at her, the glare still firmly in place. Darcy shrinks back from it and tugs her shirt back down to cover herself. “Clint?” It’s a whispered question but his attention is back with the woman he’s holding immobile.

“Punish me,” Natasha moans out as Clint clenches her hair tighter in his fist. A dark look passes between them, some shared memory that Darcy has no place in. Clint twists his arm, forcing Natasha to sink to her knees in front of him. She leans forward and rests her face against the bulge in his pants.

“No coming until I give you leave to,” Clint says, catching Natasha’s chin in his hand. “Understand me?” Natasha nods. He pushes her away, closer to the table where Darcy sits watching them. He circles the table then, coming to stand next to her. 

“Darcy,” Clint breathes her name like a prayer, pushing the hair back from her face with his hand. “Oh, kitten, that goes for you as well.” He captures her mouth with a bruising kiss. “Lay back for me.” His hands help her recline back against the tabletop, pulling her back closer to the edge. Clint arranges her to his liking with her thighs spread wide and one foot propped up on the table. He pulls a lazy finger through the trail of her wetness and she jumps from the contact. 

He growls at her movement and leans down to nip at her ear. “Don’t you dare come for her.” Darcy can do no more than nod her agreement, her voice stolen by the tension in the air. She’s not one to lie to herself. In the bedroom, Darcy tends to have a submissive streak and has been more than content to let Clint and Natasha take the reins. This more intensely dominant Clint has her quivering with need. It’s like a damn romance novel in her loins. 

Clint pulls a chair up in front of Darcy, twisting the back perpendicular to the table, and pats the seat. “Kneel.” Natasha obeys quickly, moving to kneel on the seat facing Darcy. She keeps her hands relaxed on her knees and waits for Clint’s next order. 

He slowly circles the table. His hand trails through Darcy’s hair and she follows him with her eyes until he comes to stand behind Natasha. Darcy risks his ire by levering up to watch them.“Up.” He taps against Natasha’s hip and she raises up on her knees. Clint pushes at the small of her back until she’s bracing her hands on the edge of the table between Darcy’s legs. 

Clint roughly undoes Natasha’s pants and yanks then down as far as they’ll go before landing a swat on her upturned ass. It’s the sound of the smack that cuts through Darcy’s lust- because it’s one thing for her to be on the receiving end, but is Tash okay with this? “Clint!” Darcy hisses his name.

They both look up at her and she bites her lip, looking from one to the other unsure of the words she should use now. Natasha meets her eye and smiles before shooting her a wink. She watches Natasha bend forward, her back arching up and catching Clint’s attention.

“Lay back, kitten,” Clint warns. His voice is gentled from the barked orders of earlier but she recognizes it for the caution it is. With his attention caught by Natasha, Darcy relaxes and lays back to stare up at the ubiquitous wood-paneled ceiling of the kitchen. The panels have gone dark with age and years of cooking, she thinks. Patterns in the wood give her something to focus on to calm her nerves and racing libido.

Of course, it’s just as she relaxes that Clint issues some whispered order that has Natasha leaning forward to taste her again. One hand spreads her folds as Natasha sets to driving her crazy with her clever tongue. Darcy bites her fist to try and stifle the moans of need. 

Clint’s voice cuts through the haze of lust. “Darce, look at me. Need to see your eyes, kitten.” She manages to roll her head to the side and make eye contact with him. He stands behind Natasha, his pants pushed to the floor. “Love you, kitten.” He makes this declaration as he slides into Natasha in one smooth stroke. They hold eye contact as he pulls back only slam in again. Natasha’s hips move back to meet him stroke for stroke. 

Natasha’s tongue teases her to higher peaks and her thumb sneaks in to circle Darcy’s clit. Darcy throws her hips up in an attempt to buck Natasha off. “Can’t,” Darcy pants. “I can’t, Tash. Please!” She writhes on the table but is too uncoordinated in her passion to get away from the ministrations. “I’m so close; please, I can’t!”

“So good, Tash,” Darcy hears Clint breathe as he bends forward to press a kiss to the small of Natasha’s back. 

It’s that tender moment more than anything that has her moaning her need in a plea. “Clint! Clint, oh, Tash.” 

“Don’t you dare, kitten,” Clint growls. She can feel his pace pick up, translated through the movement of Natasha against her. It’s too much- far too much for her to handle without breaking against the waves of pleasure. 

Darcy finds her heels in a moment of desperation and pushes against the edge of the table, sliding herself up on the surface and away from Natasha’s searching hands. Shaking with the effort of holding back her orgasm, Darcy rolls herself into the fetal position. Through the pounding of her heart in her ears she can hear Clint’s frustrated groan. A quick peek tells her he’s come deep in Natasha, his head thrown back as he clasps her hips to him. Natasha, for her part, has her hands flat on the table and her forehead resting at the edge. Darcy closes her eyes and lays back to try and calm herself.

“Where’d you go, kitten?” Clint croons from above her. 

Darcy opens her eyes and looks up into his calm face. “I couldn’t take it; I was too close and you said don’t.” 

“C’mere,” Clint tugs gently at her hand until she sits up. “You’re so good, kitten. So good.” He pulls her into his arms, cradling her against his chest and she snuggles in. He carries her down the hall to the bedroom and she watches as Natasha follows behind them, carrying their discarded clothing. 

Clint places her reverently in the center of the bed and turns to wrap Natasha in his embrace. They kiss like it’s the only way they can breathe in, wrapped up in one another. Darcy relaxes into the bedding and watches her spies with a lazy smile. 

“Does that mean we’re okay?” Darcy asks after she feels she’s been patient enough. 

“We’re together,” Natasha answers simply. She heads around to the side of the bed and climbs in beside Darcy, brushing a hand over Darcy’s flushed cheeks. “We pushed you hard. Are you all right?”

Darcy nods and reaches for her in search of her own welcoming kiss. “Gonna be fine if I can hold you both,” Darcy answers after pulling back from her kiss. She feels the mattress dip behind her and rolls to face Clint.

“We’re okay?” She asks again. Darcy needs to hear them both say it, needs to know they’re together and ready to face down anything that comes. 

“We’re okay, kitten.” Clint rumbles as he buries his face in the crook of her neck to kiss at the skin there. It’s quick to have her squirming under him. His hand travels down her body. “Open for me?” He’s asking now, no longer issuing punishing orders. She acquiesces with a sigh. Clever fingers find her center and easily stroke a purr from her. 

Natasha curls against her back and kisses whatever bits of skin she comes across, her hands wrapping around Darcy to tease at her nipples. Clint catches Darcy’s mouth up in a kiss, capturing her sounds of pleasure as she gets closer and closer to the edge of orgasm. 

When her breathing hitches, Clint pulls back to catch her eyes. “Come for me, kitten. Let me feel you come apart.” His thumb adds a teasing, twisting circle around her clit that has her seeing stars. 

Natasha nuzzles in just below Darcy’s ear and adds a “Please,  _ kotyonok _ . Let us catch you.” 

Two pleas are more than she can refuse. Her toes curl and she arches against Clint’s hand. Darcy comes back down to Earth to find Natasha pulling her to rest her head on Natasha’s shoulder. Clint shuffles around and pulls the bed covers up and around them all. He wraps an arm across Darcy’s waist and pulls himself in tighter behind her. They fall asleep tangled together and awake in the late morning still connected. 

* * *

They make their way to the kitchen for breakfast far after the noon hour, having sated their appetites in rediscovering the hidden places on each lover’s body. It was exhausting and thorough work and Darcy thinks she would forever volunteer as tribute to lie under her spies’ attentions. 

It’s over a rustic omelet and a large mug of coffee that Darcy shatters the calm of the morning.

“Let’s go home.”

She swears she can hear them having a conversation with only their eyes; can hear the psychic energies wheeling back and forth as they debate who addresses her comment first.

Clint wins. “Are you sure you’re ready, kitten?” 

“I’ve got most of my range of movement back thanks to Natasha and her exercises. I think,” Darcy pauses and shrugs. “I feel like with you both there I could manage to go back to work.”

“Have you thought about where you’ll stay?” Natasha asks, cradling her mug of coffee and examining Darcy closely.

“I had hoped-”

Clint breaks in. “With us. You’ll stay with us.” He looks from Natasha to Darcy and Darcy grins.

“Yes, Clint. I had hoped to discuss us living together when we got back to the city.” Darcy looks back at Natasha. “But I don’t want to intrude. I’ve still got a month on my lease by my count before it goes month-to-month, so there’s time to decide.” She cringes a bit. “Except, I’d need an adjustment period if you were wanting space. I’ve, uh, gotten used to sharing a bed with you both. Not sure I could sleep without you.”

“You’ll stay with us.” Natasha echoes. “And we’ll use the training gyms to work on your self-defense and continue your strength training with your shoulder.”

“I put myself in your hands.” Darcy smiles at the woman anticipating a few post-gym sweaty makeout sessions.

“Have you talked to your head-shrink friend?” Clint asks sitting forward in his chair.

Darcy swallows a laugh. “You’ve really got to stop calling him that. I haven’t, not exactly. He’s mentioned a few times that he thinks I’d be able to handle re-entering society.” Darcy fiddles with her fork. This next ask is one that worries her a bit. “Would you be willing to visit him with me? I’d like us to have someone to talk to, maybe help us talk?”

“Whatever you need,” Clint answers immediately. He reaches out and grabs her hand up.

Natasha leans forward to capture her other hand. “Whatever you need,  _ kotyonok _ . We’ll be together.” 


End file.
